Rays of light poked holes in the air in Harin’s room, shaped by the slight gaps between the boards that were his window. His family is too poor for glass - well, most people are.

Incidentally, one of those rays struck Harin in the eye, waking him prematurely and placing him in a poor mood. He sat up to wipe the sleep from his eyes, and ruffle his messy light-brown hair into what he thought was a vaguely presentable shape. Swinging his legs over the side of his straw-padded cot, he held his head in his hands for a moment before rubbing his temples and slowly standing to his feet.

Waiting for him in the common room of his small cottage home were his mother and Brothers, and a pot of porridge cooking over a small fire in the hearth. As he sat with his three brothers at the small dining table, his mother procured bowls and spoons from a cupboard, carved from blocks of wood by Harin’s father before he was conscripted. His brothers: Sameth, Baren, and Valren, were all younger than Harin, and had all faced what he would today - the Testing.

The Crown was looking for potential Partners and Conduits from throughout the Kingdom. Everyone knew it was ridiculous – very, very few commoners could become Partners or Conduits. The overwhelming majority were from noble families, since most Partners and Conduits are awarded with Nobility, it would make sense that – over time – they were bred out of the common population. He had nothing to worry about; the chances of him being Tested and passing were astronomically low. Come tomorrow, he would be working the stables again like every other day. He needed to, to support his family in his Father’s stead.

While shovelling a spoonful of porridge into his mouth, Sameth declared,

“I bet fHarin ish a fPartner!”

As was typical of his excitable nature, he tended to get carried away without considering the consequences of his words. This time was no exception, “Sameth!” admonished Harin’s mother, “You shouldn’t say those things! You might upset the spirits of the house.”

Having been successfully chastised, Sameth sheepishly resumed the devouring of his meal. Valren, whom worked with Harin in the stables, was next to speak,

“But Mother, wouldn’t it be good if at least one of us was gifted? The Crown’s compensation would be enough to move to the city where we would find better work…”He stopped mid-sentence as his mother’s expression had darkened like a raincloud, threatening a storm,

“Valren. Go. To. Your. Room. You would trade your brother to the Crown for gold?! I’ll not have that sort of talk! Not here and not now, and certainly not ever again!”

Understandably, Baren was reluctant to speak.

After Harin had finished his porridge, packed his worn leather rucksack with both his lunch and his stable-boy’s clothes, he found his mother waiting for him in the common room for the second time that morning. This time her eyes were teary as she stood still and restrained herself from embracing her son before he went.

She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and gave her farewells, “Harin… my son. Good luck.”

“Thanks, mum,” Harin replied, “Though I doubt I’ll need luck when the result is a given.” Smiling, Harin made his way out through the cottage’s front door.

About a half hour had passed while Harin walked the path to Graendale, the small town in which he was to be Tested, passing by miles of field and pasture. As he grew closer to Graendale, it became clear that a large crowd had gathered – as it usually does – around the building that had been repurposed for the Testing. The building gave Harin an odd feeling, as if it contained within it a bad omen. It could also have been the morning chill befuddling his mind, though. Either way, Harin continued moving towards Graendale at a steady pace.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

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He reached the crowd that surrounded the outside of the building, which had begun to disperse after the soldiers guarding it began barking orders at the bystanders. As he approached, one of the soldiers lay his spear in Harin’s path,

“You. Move off; Crown’s order.” He stated firmly.

“Oh… uh... I was actually scheduled for a Testing, Sir.” Harin replied carefully, hoping not to provoke the soldier who had fixed Harin with an authoritative glare.

“…Fine, come with me. Quickly now, boy.” The soldier acquiesced before removing his spear from Harin’s vicinity with the sharp movement of his wrist.

The solider led Harin to the door, next to which stood a man in the tail end of his prime holding a wax tablet in one hand, his grey-white hair specked with black.

He held his other palm out, motioning for the soldier and Harin to stop a few feet from him, “Name.”

His voice held an imperious quality that compelled Harin to reply – and promptly.

“H-Harin, Sir.” His voice wavered slightly, reflecting the anxiety he could feel mounting within his lungs.

With a slight wry smile on his face, the man crossed a name off the list with his stylus,

“You may enter. Worry not, Harin. It won't take long.”

Harin swallowed, the saliva wetting his dry throat. Gathering what little courage dwelled within him, he opened the door and stepped inside.

The room was large, with both walls and floor made from wood, and had been the great room of the inn that the Crown’s soldiers had taken over. Most of the furniture – benches, tables, chairs – had been organised along the far wall of the great room. There was, however, a pair of chairs alongside the singular table in the centre of the room. Upon one of these chairs sat a thin middle-aged woman with flowing black hair, smooth features, cherry-red lips, and brown-hazel eyes.

Behind her stood an imposing man of roughly equal age, possessing blond hair, green eyes, and a square jaw covered in black stubble. He was muscular, but not so as to stretch the green linen shirt he wore. The woman spoke to Harin with a voice like velvet,

“Hello, how are you this day?” she inquired, trying to ease what was now a clearly anxious Harin.

“I’m fine… Thanks,” Harin’s mother would not be impressed that it had taken him several seconds to thank the woman for asking after his wellbeing.

Seeing his hesitation, the woman continues,

“My name is Selrine. Would you sit opposite me, please?” She spoke as if dealing with a particularly frightened horse, and recognising that tone galvanised Harin to act with at least a little dignity,

“Of course. My name is Harin, though… I’m sure you knew that.” He tried to move with as much of his aforementioned dignity as he could towards the chair with marginal success,

“So… how does this work?” Harin asked while seating himself opposite Selrine, sitting straight as he could,

“Well, first, you must relax. Good. Now take my hand; stare into my eyes. Stay like that. This won’t hurt, but might be uncomfortable.” She spoke reassuringly, but no longer in the same manner as before.

Harin sat there staring into Selrine’s eyes; five seconds; ten; fifteen. Nothing happened – then, as if it were always the case, Selrine’s pupils began to glow a vibrant aquamarine blue. That light pierced Harin’s eyes as if searching his soul. He did not know how much time passed in that manner, only that after what felt like hours to him did Selrine’s eyes close. Slowly, she opened them again before rubbing them through her eyelids with the back of her hands.

A few moments after, she met Harin’s confused gaze with a grave stare. She spoke slowly and firmly, as if struggling to find her words,

“You… You are a Partner, Harin.”